


(01) New Message

by asmyami



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blind Character, Blind!Soldier: 76, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 00:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8307460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmyami/pseuds/asmyami
Summary: When Jack Morrison left his old life behind, he took one thing with him to remember Gabriel by.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So! I've been writing fanfic on and off for awhile, but mostly I've kept it to myself. I've been convinced to post this by several folks. My first AO3 fic ever! So, the tags are probably sub-par. Please let me know if I should tag this as anything! Thank for dropping by to read my fic, I hope you enjoy it. :)

It had taken a long while to heal from the explosion. He shouldn’t have been surprised-- he was pretty near the origin-- but enhanced healing from the alterations he underwent had made him used to spending less and less time injured. This though, this took the cake. When he’d finally dragged himself out of the rubble of the destroyed Swiss headquarters, blind and bleeding from what felt like everywhere, he thought maybe this was _finally_ it. Time to punch out. Except he didn’t. His consciousness soldiered on through what felt like the longest night ever, and when he finally got tired of the pain, he raised his broken arm and fumbled for the canister on his chest, weakly pushed the button, and a biotic field formed around him. His labored breathing through the ruins of his face eased. That kept him going until the rescue crew found him. He couldn’t see the damage, but it was bad enough that he was unrecognizable. About three hours ago, he’d guessed at least one aspect of it. His eyes weren’t working. When they asked him his name, he couldn’t speak. There wasn’t enough left of him to speak. Hell, he could barely hear. His hands were shattered, his arms broken. So he was named John, John Doe, and Jack thought that if the fire hadn’t seared away all the humor in him, he wouldn’t stop laughing.

 

Gabe would’ve got a kick out of it.

 

A numbness grew in him. Gabe was dead. There was no doubt in him. He knew it when he woke and he’d know it for the rest of his life. He was closer to the explosion, his body… what Jack had been able to see… his mind shrank away from the memory, and he willed his consciousness into that growing numbness.

 

It took a month for him to be moved out of intensive care. He wasn’t sure why it took so long, but at least he’d been able to regain some use of his mouth and hands. By then he’d heard the KIA and MIA lists. Gabriel Reyes was listed as KIA. It was the truth, but somehow hearing it made the feeling real, and he had to fight from screaming. Hearing that John “Jack” Morrison was also listed as KIA surprised him a little less. A world of people who became suddenly grateful and respectful at the last moment said goodbye to Strike Commander Morrison. There was a memorial shortly after. Only two people mentioned Gabriel at the speech. Reinhardt had been one. He sounded distraught. Angela had been another, following Reinhardt’s lead with her own solemn contribution. Jack couldn’t see it, but he knew from the announcer that the others had been there. Even Fareeha had requested leave from the Egyptian army to say goodbye at his memorial. She thanked him in the clipped curtness that Jack recognized from all the speeches she’d ever had to rehearse. Raw emotion added an extra edge to her words. She was so like her mother.

 

When they asked him again who he was, he gave a fake name. It was an impulse, but something told him that Jack was better off dead. There was no going back. He didn’t want to go back.

 

He thought he’d have to, once Mercy found him. Angela. He recognized her touch instantly from the depth of sleep. Clinical, but always gentle. The arrangement threw off his awareness for a moment-- how many times had he found himself on the table in front of her, sporting some new injury? This could’ve been any of those times-- except it wasn’t, and he blinked uselessly against the abyss in an effort to see something, anything. A habit he’ll soon outgrow. Instead he focused on his hearing, and raised a wrecked hand to hers--

 

“Don’t. You’re badly hurt still.” Her voice sounded thick with emotion. He sighed. She was sobbing, as quietly as she could. He listened for the sounds of others, but the room was silent, absent of even the usual din of the hallway. The door was shut.

 

“An… gela,” he croaked hoarsely, feeling the strain on his newly repaired throat and jaw. Grafts and implants to boost the healing-- even supersoldier enhancements couldn’t regrow bone.

 

“I thought you were dead. We all did.”

 

“I he--” he coughed, and a glass of water touched his lips. He drank gratefully, pulling his head back when he was finished. The glass disappeared, and the hand inspecting his injuries returned. “I heard. At the speech. You talked about him, you thanked Gabriel.” He felt her hand pause and withdraw, only to return to his hand, holding it gently.

 

“As if I could care about gag orders at a time like that.” Her voice hitched, and her grip tightened marginally, enough to ache. He supposed he deserved it. “Besides, you, and him… you never would have wanted to leave him behind.” Jack closed his eyes. They’d begun to burn.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“We fought. The UN, I mean, all of us, to put your plots together. He’ll be buried on a reserved plot in the US. Along with you.” The situation seemed ridiculous.

 

“... Angela, did you see him?” The hesitation was tangible. She had.

 

“Angela--”

 

“There was nothing to see, Jack. I’m sorry.”

 

The hand left his. He could hear her rustling around him, but for the moment ignored her, choosing instead to retreat inside himself. He didn’t speak for the rest of the week, except to answer questions about his injuries.

 

Angela became his sole doctor. She saw to his every need, and kept questions at bay. She told him she knew he had his reasons for staying hidden, and though she pressed, she mostly left well enough alone for the time being.

 

It took two months for him to get back on his feet. Three more for him to finally feel his body’s conditioning kick back in, and his old strength returning. On his last day, Angela pushed a large box into his arms, explaining the contents. It held a mask, and some sort of visor. He snorted.

 

“The hell’s that gonna do for me, Angela?” He could practically feel her scowling at him.

 

“Just put it on, Jack. You’ll see.”

 

Afterwards, he wondered if that had been a play on words. He felt the cool touch of electrodes on the back of his head as the visor was secured, and as soon as it was settled it powered on, and Jack nearly fell over on his ass.

 

He could see. Everything was tinged red, but he could see. He lifted his hands and looked down at them. Exactly how he remembered them, except for a few new scars. Carefully, adjusting to the fact that he could see again, Jack stood and made his way towards the bathroom mirror. There he was. His eyes were covered, but the scar tissue surrounding the visor told him what he’d find underneath. His mouth and jaw rippled with burn scars, but Angela had patched him together nicely-- at least he had a nose and lips again. After a moment, Jack removed the visor and held it in the hand that braced his weight against the sink. The other covered his eyes, and he slumped forward, suddenly overwhelmed.

 

Jack stood like that for a moment before he felt Angela’s hand on his back.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“No,” he barked out, voice harsh with held back sorrow. He swallowed and tried again, softer. “No. Thank you. You’ve done so much for me.” He heard a small laugh beside him, little more than a breath.

 

“Of course, how could I do anything else? You are my friend, and my commander. I’m sure… the others would be delighted to know…” It wasn’t subtle. It never had been. Feeling at once tired and resolute, Jack shook his head. He stood and solemnly placed the visor over his eyes.

 

“The commander is dead. I’m… I’m just a soldier.”

 

\---

 

After he left the hospital, he immediately travelled to Gibraltar to gather the effects he’d left there. Whatever he’d taken with him to the Swiss headquarters had long been eaten by fire.

 

With the UN dismantling Overwatch full force, security at Gibraltar was woefully neglectful. Jack had to do little more than knocking out a single gate guard.

 

His room was exactly as he’d left it. Nobody had come by yet to empty it out. He surveyed all the things he wanted to take-- photos, clothing, keepsakes that had no worth to anyone but him and--

 

But he didn’t. They would only weigh him down, he reasoned against the part of him that just didn’t want to let go. They would help people recognize him, and he’s supposed to be dead.

A flashing light caught the corner of his eye. It was his room phone, a red ‘12’ blinking up at him. Jack stared for a moment. He’d always had a terrible habit of letting messages build up, everyone had said so. It got to the point where nothing urgent or sensitive was ever passed to him through phone calls. These were all old, but he knew what they were. Swallowing, he walked over and hit the playback button. The voice was like a gunshot in the silence of the room.

 

“First saved message. _Cariño. I just_ \--”

 

Jack slammed the stop button, breathing hard. Silence filled the void left by the dead man’s voice. The torrent of emotions raged inside him, threatening to break free, and Jack quickly grabbed a duffel and set about packing only the barest of necessities, things that nobody would notice would be missing. Some clothing, toiletries-- all things that he could have taken with him to Switzerland.

 

It took about ten minutes for him to pack up everything he needed from his old life. Jack calmed down a bit more, until he was sure that he wasn’t close to breaking down. He grabbed his duffel off the bed, aiming to beat a hasty retreat. Something clattered to the floor. It was an old music device, the kind he used to listen to while he worked out. He stared at it, and before he could convince himself not to, Jack had downloaded the phone messages onto it, grabbed the charger and earbuds, and left.

 

This one thing… he’d just take this one thing.

 

\--

 

The second time he robbed an Overwatch building, it was a storage facility. His initial intrusion onto the Gibraltar base three months previous had not gone unnoticed, but in the turmoil following the dismantling of Overwatch, there was little that could be done. This time was different. Helix International had gotten involved. Jack scowled. They must have poached several old Overwatch workers immediately after the fall, and probably bought the old storage bases from the UN. He forced his old irritation back, reminding himself that Overwatch was finished, and he wasn’t the commander anymore. The new irritation was far more pressing. Helix had put up a decent defense. He was able to sneak in alright, but his goal was the weapons cache, and that had been heavily guarded.

 

His service pistol was well enough, he supposed. Standard issue, not one of his old ones. What he really needed was a pulse rifle. His own had been destroyed in the hq blast, and the new one was behind locked steel doors with guard detail and two-man patrols like clockwork.

 

It took him way too long to knock out a guard patrol once they rounded a blind turn. After that he had scant minutes to run to the guard detail before they could notice the discrepancy in pattern-- these Helix guards were aggravatingly well-trained. Even with all his caution and speed however, once he got the rifle and a large amount of self-replenishing biotic fields, his entry had been noticed.

 

Jack could’ve lived without the shootout that followed. Pinned down, he had no choice but to use the helix rockets to blast away the people between him and escape. This is what he wanted, he told himself. This is how it has to be done. His best efforts at keeping injuries disabling rather than fatal were still close-- without immediate medical attention, several of them could die. Jack steeled himself against regret and pushed forward.

 

A few hours later, holed up in some condemned apartment building, he collapsed against a peeling wall. Each heavy breath brought the taste of stale and musty air. He’d scared a couple of squatters out of the place when he’d come out of the dark, visor glowing and clothing stained red where some lucky guards had gotten shots in. Sloppy. Mercy would’ve given him an earful. So would…

 

Jack let his head fall back against the wall. He stared up at the red tinted shadows above him, seeking clarity but seeing nothing apart from empty cobwebs. Idly, he planted a biotic field next to him. His head began to throb. He noticed that wearing the visor too long seemed to do that. At least the field stopped the bleeding.

 

Jack felt exhausted, but too wired to sleep. For what felt like the millionth time since he got it, he pulled out the music player, and eyed it. It was still fully charged. He scrolled up to the oldest of the messages and hesitated. Then he scrolled down to the latest. He remembered what it was. He slipped off his visor, letting the darkness fill his vision. Relief from the headache was immediate, and he sighed. Tucking the earbuds into his ears, he reclined against the wall, closed his eyes, and hit play.

 

“ _Stop calling me. And don’t approach me in Zürich. I-- shit. I need some time, OK? We’ll talk, but  after. Later…cariño._ ”

 

He stopped it, feeling all of his insides shudder. That familiar rasp of a dead man’s voice acted both as balm and acid. The grief was still fresh. Swallowing hard, he hit back and play again, muscle memory remembering the buttons easily.

 

“ _Stop calling me. And don’t approach me in Zürich. I--shit. I need some time. OK? We’ll talk, but after. Later…cariño._ ”

 

Jack turned the volume up. Hit back. Play again. Gabe’s voice was ringing in his ears, his tone harsh at first then mellowing out into… something. Something pained. He hit the rewind button.

 

“-- _ut after. Later…cariño._ ” Jack let out a ragged breath, pressing his hands to his face, the cool metal of the music player sapping away the heat of his skin. They’d never gotten to have that talk. Jack wanted to, he wanted to run up to Gabe as soon as he saw the other man in Zürich. Jack tried to recall what he’d looked like. His usual combat gear, despite the formality of the event. His increasingly usual scowl clearing the path all around him. His eyes were as dark as intense as ever. Jack wondered if it was as obvious to the people around him he hadn’t been sleeping. Where people saw furrowed brows and grit teeth, Jack and seen dark circles, paler skin. He should’ve approached him, should’ve pulled him aside, but it all went to hell. Had he wanted to reconcile?

 

Thumb swipe back. Push.

 

“ _Later…cariño.”_

 

Jack’s head fell back with a thunk. What was the point in wondering about that? Gabe was dead. He hit back twice, moving to a previous message.

 

“ _You should never have been Strike Commander. It should’ve been me. Instead I get stuck with the dregs, doing shit you wouldn’t believe-- do you even read those reports I give you? And nobody knows about it. They just know the results and whose ass they can kiss for it, and it’ ain’t mine. I’ve done more for this organization than you or anyone will ever know-- I’ve given up more! I-- damn it… I gave up you. I wish we’d never formed Overwatch._ ”

 

It hurt, almost as much, no, more than it did the first time he’d heard this. Almost a month before the hq explosion, Jack had come back to this message. It was a hard day, for both of them, but this had been the breaking point. For days after, people around the base still walked on eggshells around them both. Their fight had been neither quiet nor contained. A formal reprimand had come down through the grapevine somewhere, but it barely registered a blip.

 

Jack’s finger moved on it’s own.

 

 _“You should never have been Strike Commander. It should’ve been me. Ins--”_ Pause. He sighed. It shouldn’t have been either of them. It was Jack’s leadership that led to the fall of Overwatch. He knew it. Jack imagined that at the end, they probably both knew it. The job was doomed from the start, he’d realized, no matter who it fell to. “-- _tead I get stuck with the dregs, doing shit you wouldn’t believe-- do you even read those reports I give you? And nobody knows about it. They just know the results and whose ass they can kiss for it, and it ain’t mine.”_ Jack read them. He read them all. Some of them were horrific. Ends met through unjustifiable means, but Blackwatch got away with it anyway. And Jack hadn’t done a thing. Let Gabe run the show, because his interference wouldn’t have made it better. The building was on fire, and all he had in his hands was gasoline. And a part of him knew Gabe had been doing it to get his attention, to get him to do something, and he hadn’t. He just took the credit and the blame got passed down, internally of course-- Overwatch never publicly took credit for Blackwatch’s activities-- but it was still the same. “ _I’ve done more for this organization than you or anyone will ever know-- I’ve given up more! I-- damn it… I gave up you.”_ His ears were filled with the sound of Gabe’s pained voice. Jack swallowed, fighting against the truth the welled up in his chest-- hadn’t he given up on Gabe too? But what could he have done? A spark of anger lit inside him. It had all been out of his control. Out of both of theirs.

 

“ _I wish we’d never formed Overwatch.”_

 

Jack stared unseeing up at the ceiling, thumbing the stop button absentmindedly.

 

“You and me both, Gabe.”

 

\--

 

It was weeks before Jack worked up the courage to progress any further into the messages. He listened to those last two over and over, sometimes trying to read something new into Gabe’s voice, his tone, maybe discover something there he should’ve seen sooner. Those days he yanked the earbuds out, considered deleting them. Never followed through. Most of the time, though, he just wanted to lose himself in it, that anger, that hurt, but more than anything just the sound of him. Just this one piece of him.

 

Today had been a relatively good day. Relative in that, unlike most days, he actually let himself feel that sense of accomplishment at having stopped a crime in progress, let himself feel like he was helping. He didn’t let himself wonder if he was.

 

So that night when he pulled out the player and took off his visor, he went back to the message before the argument. It began with a long silence, so long he almost put his visor back on just to check if he’d hit play. Then he heard the quiet question.

 

“ _... Where did it all go wrong?_ ”

 

Jack’s grip tightened. Gabe sounded so confused. When had he gotten this message? He has no memory of it. Cursing himself, Jack realized he probably had skipped over it due to the long pause at the beginning. He can’t even check the timestamp since it wasn’t saved with the recording. It had been before the angry message Gabe had left, but how long? Minutes? Days? There was no way to tell. Feeling guilty, he hit back again, twice.

 

_“... We’ve been avoiding this long enough. We need to talk.”_

 

Jack’s stomach clenched involuntarily. Even from the long dead, those words seemed to instill some instinctual anxiety. They’d tried to talk. Got frustrated. Got desperate. Fell into bed with one another, and woke up knowing nothing at changed. Jack was still Strike Commander Morrison, public figure and acting head of Overwatch. Gabriel was still the commander of Blackwatch, in the shadows. Jack frowned. They’d both been so prideful, too dug in to realize when things were out of their hands. Jack remembered letting Gabriel work his frustrations out on him that night. It’d been rough, still pleasurable, but nothing was better afterwards, and it hadn’t been worth the fleeting looks of guilt Gabe tried to hide from him every time the older man saw a bruise or bite mark. Stupid, stupid.

 

Back. Play.

 

“ _I’m going to be out all night._ ”

 

Breathe. Back. Play.

 

“ _Feel like I haven’t talked to you in person in weeks. Guess that shiny new position is keeping you on your toes. …… we-- …I’ll see you later._ ”

 

Exhale. Inhale. Back. Play.

 

“ _Going to be late tonight, patching up McCree. Kid’s gonna lose his neck if he keeps sticking it out like that. I’m sure you’ll hear about it in the debrief. Don’t wait up._ ”

 

 _Exhale_.

 

Hearing them like this, back to back, Jack was startled to realize how clear it was. These messages were separated by weeks, too long between them to have seen the overarching progress through the small hurts and exasperation of the moment. Maybe someone else could have. Maybe if their positions were switched, Gabe could have. He had the eye for details and patterns. Back, play.

 

“ _Jack… just wanted to let you know I’ll be gone again. Another mission, but I’m sure you already knew that. Hell, I think it has your signature down here. You know how long I’ll be gone. I’ll talk to you when I get back._ ”

 

He’d tried calling back after this one, to say good bye and good luck, but Gabe never picked up. Jack figured he was busy with the briefing and mission prep and had simply texted him (thumbs hitting several more keys than he intended). He’d shrugged off the tone of the message. Figured Gabriel was just having an off day. There had been several since his assignment to Blackwatch. This was before it’d gotten really bad, but now that Jack knew how it played out, the message sent up every red flag. God, even before he lost his sight, he had been so blind.

 

Jack yanked out the earbuds and barely kept himself from throwing the player, opting to set it down next to him, before clasping his hands together so tightly he felt his bones creak, and bringing them up to his face. There was no outlet for his anger, no Gabriel here to listen to him try to explain and ask for forgiveness and ask for an apology in turn. Jack slipped on the visor and mask, and tucked the player into his pocket. He stood and stalked out of his newest hiding spot, pulse rifle in hand. He’d get no sleep tonight. May as well do some good.

 

\--

 

Jack knew he had a problem. He should have deleted the messages long ago. They weren’t helping him let go. It had now been over a year since the explosion, and the vigilante Soldier: 76 was beginning to make a name for himself. On one hand, he had been very successful. No connection to Jack Morrison had been made, at least not publicly. Wherever Mercy was, she was keeping quiet. In every way, Soldier: 76 was a completely separate entity from Jack, except for this one tie.

 

He needed to finish the messages.

 

So he set down his gear in a hot, dusty cabin. He was somewhere in South America, wasn’t entirely sure where. The group he was tracking was holed up about a mile down the road. They were big enough to be tracked, and at this distance he was safe for the night. They wouldn’t move for a day or so-- waiting on an incoming weapons shipment. Illegal.

 

For now, in the silence before the storm, Jack figures this is as good a time as any.

 

He found the latest message he’d listened to and went back one more, then completed his ritual of taking off his visor and mask, slipping the earbuds in, lying down on his jacket atop the musty cot in the cabin.

 

“ _Hey cariño. I’m gonna be leaving on a mission soon. Your secretary-- shit, I can’t believe you have one of those-- told me you were out in a meeting. I’m heading back to the homeland, gonna clean up some gangs down there. We’re cleared for phone calls, so call me when you get this_.”

 

Jack huffed, then froze, startled. It had been so long since he’d heard Gabe’s wry humor. God he remembered how the older man had rolled his eyes at the secretary. Of course the man had been military too, but it never truly settled that Jack essentially had a military desk job to go with the usual Overwatch ops until Gabe had had to leave a message with the man. What had been his name? Felipe? Francisco? Jack smiled, practically hearing the unused muscles creak in his face. How many awful jokes had Gabe made about him finding another Latino lover, especially one that was his secretary? They had all been in extremely poor taste (thankfully made within the confines of their apartment), and Gabe had jokingly bemoaned Jack’s wandering eye before Jack had tackled him down and proved he only had eyes for Gabe.

 

Jack fumbled for the repeat button and listened to the message a few more times, sinking into Gabe’s voice and the memories that came with it. The tone was so much lighter. They’d still had some problems but it was a world of difference. In his mind he played each word in sync with the message, committing it to memory with the rest.

 

He played it through a handful of times before gearing himself up for the next one. Replaying each new message held a hint of apprehension. Will the memory be good? Bad? He knew it didn’t matter in the end. He wanted the memory anyway. He turned off repeat, and pressed back.

 

_“I just heard about your promotion. Strike Commander huh..? Surprised you took it. Surprised-- well, never mind. Wondering why I had to hear about it from Torbjorn though. Didn’t want to tell me? ………See you tonight. We’ll celebrate. You’ll be great, Jack… bye.”_

 

Jack let the happiness from the previous message carry over into a sort of calm. This was right after he’d received the promotion. He’d told Torbjorn in a state of shock-- truly a mistake. The other man had simply assumed Gabe had already known. He’d explained apologetically that he hadn’t meant to ruin the surprise. Gabe had been surprised, alright, but not in the way Torbjorn likely thought he’d blundered.

 

Jack just hadn’t found the words. He’d been under Gabe, and then took a promotion over him-- how do you explain that? At the start of the message, Jack had been gearing up for an argument.

 

_“I just heard about your promotion. Strike Commander huh..? Surprised you took it. Surprised-- well, never mind. Wondering why I had to hear about it from Torbjorn though. Didn’t want to tell me?”_

 

There was jealousy there. They both knew it. An accusation. Jack felt guilty over not telling him--  at the time he understood his superior’s reasons, but none of that felt right to repeat to his commander, his best friend and lover. Now, and since, he’d wondered if he made the right choice.

 

“ _………See you tonight. We’ll celebrate. You’ll be great, Jack… bye.”_ Jack mused over the words. Gabe sounded forced, but he was really trying. When they’d talked later, it became even more evident. Jack knew he was disappointed, but everything after that seemed to say it was going to work out, that Gabe would push past his hurt and jealousy and support him. He’d been given hope and trusted things to turn out for the better.

 

Jack sighed. He’d always been optimistic and naive. He knew it, Gabe knew it. Probably took advantage of it more than once. Jack debated stopping there, but he’d committed to finishing the messages, and by his count, he only had two left. He hit back, and play.

 

“ _Oi, guero. I know you’ve been avoiding my calls all day. You planning a surprise or something? If you get me another cake with fifty candles, I’m gonna make you regret it._ ”

 

The levity of the message startled another laugh out of him. How old was this message? Almost two decades? For the millionth time since downloading the messages, Jack was thankful for his sentimental and hoarding past-self. The message was from the day of Gabe’s 25th birthday. Overwatch would have been formed about six months later. They’d been comrades in arms for seven years, best friends for six and a half, and lovers for two. The infamous candle-cake was from when they were still in the soldier enhancement program. Gabe was going on 23, and got a cake with almost twice that many candles. They’d set off the fire alarm. Jack replayed the message laughed again, covering his face with his hands. He revelled in the happy memory, barely noticing the moisture gathering in his eyes.

 

Pressing the back button one final time had been easy, after that.

 

“ _Cariño. I just wanted to call and say hey. Been thinking about you, seeing you later. These new recruits are driving me up a wall. Can’t wait to dump their lazy butts and come home. Ugh, gotta run, one of them shot himself in the foot, again. Talk to you later, guapo_.”

 

His heart ached. This was the last message. The last one he had to remember Gabe by. Jack rolled onto the side and curled up, clamping his hand against his mouth to stifle any noises, and lay shuddering on the cot. Memories came to him, of Gabe training up the newest batch of recruits. They’d still been in the army then. Gabe was in charge of breaking in some new recruits. Usually Jack had been with him-- oh, right. He’d been sick as a dog that day. Their relationship was still new, still quiet. This was one of the first messages Gabe had ever left him that really, truly drove it home. Made it feel official. Jack had held onto it for what felt like a lifetime, moved it from phone to phone (sometimes through very creative means). He’d always hidden it from Gabe-- honestly it was embarrassing-- but once again he finds himself so thankful he did.

 

“ _Cariño. I just wanted to call and say hey. Been thinking about you, seeing you later. These new recruits are driving me up a wall. Can’t wait to dump their lazy butts and come home. Ugh, gotta run, one of them shot himself in the foot, again. Talk to you later, guapo_.”

 

He turns the volume up until it’s nearly deafening. Even in in the reduced quality of the audio, he can hear a sharp gun report in the background, and some poor kid’s screaming. Jack coughed out a laugh. Gabe had gotten an earful for that incident.

 

“ _Cariño. I just wanted to call and say hey. Been thinking about you, seeing you later.”_

 

“Been thinking about you too, cariño,” he murmured into his coat, mouth feeling clumsy as he tried to imitate Gabe’s pet names. Jack listened until he fell asleep, eyes puffy but dry, and feeling more at peace then before.

 

\--

 

He never deleted the messages.

 

Listening to them became a ritual. The last thing he heard at night and the first thing he heard in the morning, when he got around to sleeping. His media player had to be replaced several times-- between wear and tear and the stray bullet, he’d had to stay on top of keeping it in serviceable condition.

 

Jack became more proficient at his vigilantism, and began targeting bigger evils. Large organized crime, like Los Muertos. Corrupt companies like Lumerico and Vishkar. Then he found out Talon was still in operation. Talon, who’d orchestrated the murder of Gérard Lacroix using Amelie, right under his nose. Talon, who’d fought and sabotaged Overwatch at nearly every turn. They became his prime target. He started dogging their steps, catching wind of trade-offs and moles, and showing up just in time to making operations difficult. Sometimes impossible. The days seemed to blend together, between hunting Talon and raiding Overwatch supply caches and safe houses for supplies.

 

He was getting close to something. Talon was hiding something big, and Jack knew it had to do with the Swiss HQ explosion.

 

But he wouldn’t find anything tonight. His lead had gone cold. The moon was high in the sky before he’d returned to his hiding spot of the week. He paused, on edge. Something felt off. Not one to ignore his instincts, Jack hunkered down a ways away and staked out the hiding spot. He stayed completely still and surveyed the area, even turning on his tactical visor, but there was nothing. Frowning, just to be safe, Jack backtracked and took a different route into the safe house. He methodically checked everything once inside. If his hiding place had been compromised, there was no sign of it. Everything was exactly the same, right down to his boot prints in the dust. Absentmindedly, he scuffed a few of them out as he made his way to the window and peered out the crack in the boards. Nothing.

 

He stayed at the window a moment, and slowly the feeling abated. He sighed and walked over a desk, pulling it away from the wall and reaching into the hole behind it to bring out his old duffel. He unclasped his mask and set it next to his bed, a sleeping roll on the floor, before fishing out a protein bar. That chore out of the way, he debated for a moment before grabbing the media player and earbuds and settling into sleep, keeping mask, visor, and gun within arms reach. He’d just listen with one earbud in. That should be fine.

 

\--

 

The figure in the shadows waited until the old man had started breathing evenly, then drifted near. The drug in the food should keep him knocked out for several hours, which was several hours and fifty-seven minutes more than he needed. A rasping laugh came from behind his mask. Jack had never been great with breaking from routine-- finding the food had been easy, even knowing which one Jack would pick to eat (not the bar on top, but right below it, for who knows what reason).

 

Reaper knelt down, bringing a clawed hand to Jack’s sleeping face. He paused when he spotted the headphones.

 

Curiosity getting the better of him, he picked up the earbud not being used, and listened.

 

The voice of a dead man assaulted his ears.

 

He sat there, frozen, listening to each one through, keeping his gaze locked on Jack’s oblivious, sleeping body. His form rippled around the edges, nanobots unable to interpret the mixed signals of anger, shock, _pain_ \--

 

Unbidden, he reached down and grabbed the media player. He wanted to crush it, but instead he just held it and listened, and watched Jack.

 

He sat there for hours.

 

\--

 

Jack woke up, groggy, and immediately knew something was wrong. He never wakes up groggy. Nobody who went through SEP _ever_ woke up groggy. He fumbled in the dark, hands slapping the floor around him. It was quiet-- where was his media player? No, more importantly, how had he been drugged? There was no other explanation. He rolled up onto his hands and knees, almost tipping forward onto the ground, but managing to hold it together. Jack stopped and listened, but only heard the noises he himself made. He moved to stand, and heard a clatter as he swung his leg out. He patted the floor until his hands landed on the visor, and quickly he slapped it on and powered it up.

 

An empty room met his gaze. His gun had been moved away from him, but it was still there. His mask lay on the desk, and on top of it was the media player. Jack forced himself to retrieve his gun first, checking it over. The safety was still on, and it was still loaded. He stalked over to the table, set the gun down, and picked up the player, swiping at the screen.

 

Only one track. He could tell this wasn’t one of the messages. The date added was last night. Every single other message had been deleted. Gone forever. Apprehension overriding his sorrow at the loss, Jack brought the earbuds to his ears, cautiously lowered the volume, and hit play. A rasping, unfamiliar voice was on the track.

 

“ _God, you haven’t changed at all. Such a sentimental old man. I can’t believe you still have these. Haha… shit. Thought you were dead but no other man has all your tells. And this… well this just proves it, doesn’t it Jack? Never a fast learner when it came to personal stuff. You thinkin’ you’ll keep him close in those? He’s dead, Jack. I’m here now, and I’m gonna come for you. First, I’m gonna kill all those UN heads and Overwatch idiots. Every single one that ever looked down on me, on you. Then, I’m gonna gut Talon. I think you know what they’re up to. What they did. And when all that’s done, I’ll come for you, Jack. Don’t you worry, we’ll be together at the end. You and me and nobody else, just how it’s meant to be, how it was always supposed to be... Haha… Later,_ **_cariño_ ** _.”_

 

The media player fell from numb fingers and distantly, he heard the screen shatter. It didn’t matter. The voice of the ghost replayed in his mind without it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again! Hope you liked it. Feel free to let me know about any glaring, embarassing errors! Also, Spanish is not my first language, and I am way out of practice with it. I try to keep foreign language down to endearments only, but if any errors are in those I would love to correct them, haha.
> 
> Check out the art mobius-loop made!  
> http://mobius-loop.tumblr.com/post/152012655434/jack-felt-exhausted-but-too-wired-to-sleep-for


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